Grace & Will
by VonHosselfratt
Summary: Will and Grace unexpectedly switch lives in a Freaky Friday style body-swap. Because why not? [WIP]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Though this WIP fic pays (obvious) homage to** _ **Freaky Friday**_ **, it was actually inspired by one of WatchMojo's recent videos about TV's most hilarious body-swaps. While watching, I happened to also be thinking,** _ **What should my next Will & Grace fic be about?**_ **And naturally, those two thoughts procreated and this idea was born. I really look forward to writing this!**

* * *

" _Grace Adler designs_ ," Grace says, holding the receiver and smiling through gritted teeth.

Karen's late again. Three hours late.

Sometimes, Grace really thinks about firing her.

Except not really.

"So, what exactly is it that you do?" says the male caller. He sounds young, and oddly familiar.

Grace is caught off guard by the question.

"Um...well, this is a design firm. I'm...an interior designer," she explains.

A stifled laugh comes from the other end of the line.

"More like - more like _inferior_ designer _,"_ the voice says, cackling.

Grace furrows her brow, finally recognizing the voice.

"Elliot, is that you?"

There's an awkward pause.

"...I'm so sorry, Grace. Karen said if I crank called you, she'd buy me a new XBox," Elliot says hastily.

With a click, the line goes dead.

Grace purses her lips, then rubs her temples.

" _Oy vey,_ " she mumbles under her breath.

The door closes behind her, and she whips around, all ready to give Karen the " _if-you're-late-one-more-time_ " routine. She stops in her tracks, a stiff finger frozen in the air, as she sees Will standing in the doorway instead, holding two coffees.

"Wow. I know you're mad when you actually break out the Yiddish," he comments coolly. Grace tightens her jaw, then moves to snatch her coffee from Will.

"I'm having a bad day," she says, hoisting herself up onto the table and tearing off the plastic lid. She sniffs. "Will, is this _soy_ milk?" she says, her nose wrinkling.

"Yeah. We're off dairy this month, remember?" Will replies, before taking a sip.

"Great. Now I'm having a _really_ bad day," Grace hisses, slamming the coffee cup down.

"What's up?" Will says, eyeing his friend with an expression more resembling amusement than genuine concern.

Grace knows that Will can be a great friend when he wants to be, but it always seemed to her that from Monday through Friday, nine through five, Will is perpetually in cocky-lawyer-businessman mode, looking down on her with an unspoken sense of superiority.

She tends to avoid venting about her problems during this window, but she has no-one else right now, so she relents.

"Well, besides the fact that my assistant is M-I-A, my coffee is made of plant water, and the fact that I have a date with _Josh_ tonight…"

Will grimaces.

"I somehow got all my blueprints mixed up, and I accidentally delivered a box of eye bolts and a _sex swing_ to my Aunt Honey's new condo."

"A sex...swing?" Will says slowly.

" _A sex swing_ ," Grace repeats for emphasis.

"What is that, exactly?" he asks.

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the gay one."

"For the last time, Grace, _gay_ is not synonymous with _kinky…_ "

"Oh, and did I mention I'm working for this total _schlemiel_ who has absolutely _no_ artistic vision?" she cuts in, angrily. "He's all like, _Uh, Miss Adler, no offense, but for me, fish tanks and potted plants don't represent aesthetic betterment, they just represent unnecessary roommates._ "

"I don't know what you're complaining about, Grace," Will says airily. "I still think you've got the easiest job in the world."

Grace groans. "I _knew_ you'd get all judge-y."

"I'm just saying…"

" _Don't_ say it," she warns.

"I mean-"

"Don't you _dare_ say it, so help me god-"

"A gay guy could do your job in his sleep."

" _Aaaand_ you said it." Grace scowls. "You think my job is easy?"

Will shrugs. "I think your entire _life_ is easy, Grace. You're self-employed, you've got an assistant who doesn't cash her checks, a friend who pays half your rent _and_ your groceries, and a boyfriend who worships the ground you walk on-"

Grace cuts in indignantly.

"Let's review; being self-employed is _super_ hard, actually, my _assistant_ never shows up on time, my _friend_ is an arrogant jerk who _only_ buys fat-free products, and my boyfriend…" Grace trails off, and then pulls a face. "Makes me necklaces out of oysters and tracks my menstrual cycle so he knows when to give me _herbal teas_."

Will laughs. "Be honest, Grace, you're a Jewish American Princess. That's exactly the kind of relationship you've always wanted to be in."

"Okay, I'm going to _ignore_ your anti-Semitic and vaguely misogynistic undertones," Grace snaps, "to argue that _your_ life, is in fact, _really easy_."

"You think so?" Will challenges.

"Yeah, actually. Spoiled little rich kid from Connecticut, uses his boyish good looks and charisma to get ahead, not to mention the cushy lawyer job…"

Will reels back, offended.

"Cushy? You think my job is _cushy?_ "

"Yeah! Cushy! Cushier than this hideous lavender chaise I'm about to deliver to the local retirement home!" Grace hits back. "I could do _your_ job in my sleep."

Will folds his arms defensively.

"Contrary to your belief, Grace, having seen every episode of _Ally McBeal_ doesn't actually qualify you as a lawyer."

Grace scoffs. "Oh, you _wish_ you were Ally McBeal. You're not even a litigator. You just sit around in your office, with your fancy books, gazing out at that huge Calvin Klein underwear billboard, before sauntering out every lunchtime to show up at my workplace to bring me pretentious coffee and make condescending remarks." She exhales, before shrugging. "I don't know, I just think it would be _really_ easy to be Will Truman."

Will tosses his empty coffee cup into the trash can and turns to give her a judgemental once-over.

"Really, 'cause I'm willing to wager that being Grace Adler is one big dance around the maypole."

"I'd like to see you _try_ to be me," Grace says, eyes narrowed.

"Well, first of all, _this,_ " Will saunters over to her desk, picks up an apricot lampshade and twists it languidly in his hands, "most definitely does _not_ go with _this._ " He gestures to the chaise, and turns to give Grace a incriminating pout.

She shifts uncomfortably.

"Oh, you think you're so much more qualified than me just because you're _gay_?" she argues.

"No, _this_ isn't me being gay. This is me having eyes. _And_ being among the ninety-two percent of the public who aren't color-blind." He throws the lampshade back to her, and she catches it clumsily. "I have to go."

"Sure, go back to your overpaid job, Perry Gayson. Back to kissing Doucette's ass and organizing Christmas potlucks!"

Will leaves wordlessly, and Grace folds her arms. Why does Will Truman always seem to win the fight just by making a silent yet sassy exit? It must be a gay thing.

 _God, I would rock at being a gay man,_ Grace thinks. _Why was I lumped with the cruel fate of being a straight woman?_ She stalks back to her desk and sets about aggressively organizing her fabrics. _I'd love to be him, just for a day._

Almost instantaneously, the floor begins to shake violently. Grace springs back in alarm, dropping several of her swatches. As the metal table rattles against the floor, she squeals and dives for cover, hands over her head and fingers interlaced protectively.

Over the noise, she hears the door open and shut and she glances up cautiously.

"Sweetie, what's going on here? What's this?" Karen says, gesturing at Grace's ridiculous position.

"I'm...taking cover. From the earthquake." Grace replies, her voice shaking. She sits up slowly, realizing that everything is once again, completely still.

"What earthquake, honey?"

"I swear...there was a huge earthquake right now. Everything was...moving!"

She looks down at her fabrics, splayed around her, then stares at her hands.

"Lord," Karen observes. "Whatever drug you're high on, I'll take four of them." She cackles as she takes a seat at her desk. "Come on, sweetie, get up. I don't pay you to sit on your ass all day."

On a normal day, Grace would remind Karen that she's the boss and then chastise her for being late, but she's too dazed to muster the words. Instead, she staggers to her feet, wondering what the hell just happened.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and let me know if you want me to continue!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Chapter 2 is finally up - I know, I know, it's been three months - but I'm glad you waited (that is, if anyone's reading at all). Reviews would be more than appreciated, and I'll try to update faster next time.**

 **And I just want to clarify - this fic is set circa Season 2 (AKA, around the year 2000).**

* * *

Grace awakens to the sound of an alarm clock.

One that sounds strangely similar to Will's.

She blinks in the darkness, and reaches out a idle hand to hit the snooze alarm, though she quickly becomes too alert to go back to sleep.

 _What am I doing in Will's room?_ she thinks, yawning. She squeezes her eyes shut and comes to the conclusion she must have had a nightmare and subconsciously crawled to him for comfort. She _had_ been having recurring dreams about being married to Josh and living in a secluded cottage adorned with wind-chimes and homemade jams, so that would make sense.

Satisfied with her theory, she reaches to wipe off string of drool that had collected on her face in the night.

Grace freezes.

Her chin feels just slightly more stubbly than usual. And her hands - while soft, were larger and - she pauses to wring her hands together - _hairy_?

 _I am_ way _overdue for a wax,_ she thinks.

She reaches clumsily for the bedside lamp and switches it on, squinting. She's in Will's room, alright, but Will is nowhere to be seen.

Furrowing her brow, she slips - or rather, tumbles - out of bed.

"Will?" she calls, before stopping in her tracks at the sound of her own - or rather, what sounded like her best friend's - voice. That can't have possibly come from _her_ , right?

With bated breath, she slowly looks down below her. The larger, masculine (albeit well-pedicured) feet she was standing on definitely did not belong to her. Shakily, she proceeds to wriggle her toes, just to make sure she was controlling them.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself. She's had some weird dreams, but this is a doozy.

This...is a dream, right?

Trembling, she moves to pinch herself, but is only greeted by the disturbing sight of her own hairy knuckles.

Transfixed, she knows that the only logical next step is to run to the nearest mirror to confirm the bizarre reality she'd been confronted with. But before she can bring herself to move, she hears the door slam.

"Will!" comes the unmistakable voice of Jack McFarland. "I need to use your apartment so I can fool around with Julio tonight. I can't use the manse because my green card marriage is just a _liiittle_ heavy to get into on the first date. We'll be going to Chuck-E-Cheese beforehand and yes, I will be using your credit card…"

Grace squints, barely listening, before realizing that she is Will right now and should probably respond.

"Will?" Jack snaps impatiently. "You listening? 'Cause I could really use some breakfast for stamina."

"I'll be right out, Jack," Grace replies automatically, before covering her mouth and closing her eyes. Within the hazy fatigue of the morning, this had seemed nothing more than a dream, but as she heard the distant sounds of the world waking up; the police sirens in the distance and the fiber of the carpet beneath her feet, it began to sink in that this was very, very real.

"I've possessed my best friend," she whispered.

Shakily, she finds it in herself to stumble out of Will's room and step into the unforgiving brightness of the living area, one hand clutching the door handle for stability.

" _Ugh_ , there you are. You're usually awake earlier, what's up?" Jack says airily, not truly caring about the answer. "Oh, and I'll take bacon, hash browns, and an omelet. Just the whites, I'm watching my figure."

Grace ignores Jack, instead walking to the mirror above the fireplace. Though she'd tried to mentally prepare herself for the sight of her best friend instead of her own reflection, she can't conceal the gasp that escapes when she realizes she is, in fact, Will Truman.

Or at least, in his body.

Jack misinterprets Grace's shocked demeanor and gives her a sympathetic pout.

"Aw, don't worry, Will. Premature gray hairs aren't _all_ bad. Some might say they make you look sort of distinguished." He ponders. "Some, not me."

"I have to…" Grace stammers, backing away from the mirror. "I have to get to work."

Even Grace doesn't know whether she's referring to her own office or Will's law firm.

"Uh, what about food?" Jack says, sounding offended. "Come _on_ , you're the only one I can eat breakfast with. The closest thing resembling cereal I've seen Karen eat is Vicodin covered in Bailey's. And Rosario eats this weird fried plantain that really stinks up the place…"

Grace is thankful that Jack is too wrapped up in himself to notice her inwardly freaking out. Moving on autopilot, she surges for the fruit bowl and tosses a banana to Jack.

"Bon appetite," she says. "Now get out."

"Fruit?" he scoffs indignantly. "If I wanted to be healthy, I would've eaten with Rosario."

"Jack, I've got a really long day ahead of me," Grace says, mustering up her best cool, authoritative Will Truman voice. "I don't have time to be your personal chef."

"Yeesh. _One_ of us needs to get laid." Jack says, peeling the banana and reluctantly taking a bite. "You know," he adds, his voice muffled by food, "Julio has a twin brother."

"I'm not interested," Grace says.

"Fine. But remember, if you don't use it…" Jack pulls apart the rest of the banana dramatically, "...it'll fall off."

Grace responds by striding over to the door and yanking it open. "Goodbye, Jack."

If she wasn't so weirded out by this morning's events, she'd be congratulating herself on her Oscar-worthy performance as Will. Jack doesn't suspect a thing as he sails to the door.

"Sidebar, you might want to check in on your wife," he says before leaving.

"Grace? You've seen Grace?" Grace says, hearing alarm bells sound in her head.

"No, but I knocked on her door earlier. I was just innocently trying to give back the tweezers that I borrowed a couple months back-"

"That was you?" Grace hisses, before composing herself. "...I mean...was she...there?"

"Yeah, but she _seems_ a little disoriented. She yelled at me to get lost, then dissolved into what I think is one of her panic attacks. You know, the ones she gets on the days she actually has to do her job." He shakes his head. "You two are _so_ hostile on mornings."

"Maybe that's because Wil- _Grace_ and I actually _have_ work on mornings."

Jack narrows his eyes. "You know, your unemployment digs are getting lazier and lazier. You should work on them." He turns to leave. "Oh, and Julio and I will be here at seven. Please tell me you have condoms that didn't expire last century."

Grace tightens her jaw, contemplating. If Jack heard "Grace" this morning, that must mean that her body was being inhabited by someone. And the only plausible explanation - well, plausible in the relative sense - was that someone was Will.

They must have switched bodies.

Just like in that Lindsay Lohan movie...or the lesser known Jodie Foster original.

"What was that?" Jack says, appearing at the side of the door frame. Grace realizes she'd been thinking out loud.

"Jack? What would you do if you woke up inside someone else's body?" she says slowly.

Jack smirks. "I can think of worse ways to wake up."

Grace shakes her head. "Alright, you're obviously going to be no help. Please leave."

She shuts the door in his face, and turns to rest against it, exhaling loudly. She pinches the bridge of her nose and thinks.

How could this have happened? What cruel, mystic forces of the universe came together to cause this?

She runs a hand through her hair, and cringes as she comes into contact with Will's hair instead of her own long, bouncy curls.

" _Wake up, wake up, wake up_ ," she hisses.

She doesn't get much more time for a mental breakdown, because in that moment a quick and firm knock sounds at the door behind her.

"I already told you to go away, Jack," she yells without moving.

"It's not Jack. It's Will," came the subdued reply. Grace can recognize her own voice immediately.

She swallows, attempting to prepare herself for the inconceivable. Pursing her lips, she grasps the door handle and slowly opens it.

"You'd better have a good explanation for this," Will snaps, pushing past her and storming into the apartment before Grace even has a chance to take in the sight of her best friend controlling her body.

"You think _I_ did this?" Grace yells, shutting the door.

"What am I doing in your body, Grace? Can you even imagine the shock I went through, waking up with...with _these_?" He gestures towards his chest.

"Really? _That_ was the most traumatic part for you?" Grace hits back sarcastically. "Waking up with boobs?"

"No, the most traumatic part was when Josh showed up at six o'clock in the morning with sassafras tea and suggested we make love to _pan flute music_!" Will screams.

"Oh, my god. You got rid of him, right?"

"Yeah, I told him I was coming down with some nausea. Which, in this case, was not totally a lie!"

"Can you quit knocking on my boobs? It's not like your body is a wonderland to wake up in, either!" Grace says angrily. "Do you know how many times I've had to resist the urge to scratch my balls this morning?"

"Don't you dare," Will warns.

"Oh trust me, I've got it covered!"

She sighs, and sinks to the couch. The weight of the situation was truly sinking in now.

"Okay, I think - I think we need to take a breather, and calm down. Take the time to truly...assess the situation and figure out a solution," she says. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and begins to hum slowly.

Will folds his arms and looks at her incredulously - a sight that would usually be intimidating if not for the fuzzy pink slippers and silk pajamas he was suddenly wearing.

"What are you doing right now?" he hisses.

"Josh may be a sap, but he's given me a lot of stress management tips," Grace replies. She flicks open her eyes, and looks at Will. "Okay, so we're in each other's bodies. For some reason. But maybe this is just temporary. You know...a twenty-four hour thing."

"Oh, sure, because the transmigration to each other's bodies works _exactly_ the same way as a stomach bug!" Will fires back.

"Hey, I'm just trying to be an optimist!" she says, returning to her calming stance. "So the next logical step for both of us is to call in sick to work today."

"Oh, you are not calling in sick," Will says. "I'm closing a really important deal today. I can't afford to miss it."

"And, by _you_ , you mean…" Grace's eyes widen. " _Me_?"

"Yup."

"But I'm not a lawyer."

"You don't need to be a lawyer, you just need to be someone with basic conversational skills. Which you…" Will trails off.

Grace stares at him blankly.

"...I'll write you some cue cards."

Grace groans, standing up and pushing past Will into the kitchen.

"God, all this anxiety is making me hungry," she laments, reaching for the box of donuts.

"What are you doing?" Will snaps, alert.

"Eating?"

"Hey. No. I've worked out every day this week, you're not screwing up my fitness streak with powdered junk!"

Grace freezes, holding the donut an inch from her mouth.

"Put it down," he warns, pointing an incriminating finger.

She pouts, and drops it back in the bag miserably.

"I'm going to make us some real breakfast and _you_ ," he says pointedly, heading to the kitchen and snatching the bag from Grace, "are going to go shave."

"Shave?"

" _And_ tweeze. I can't go into work looking like Ted Bundy." Will frowns at Grace, examining her. "You do know _how_ to shave, right?"

"Will, I'm a woman. I can _shave_. Shaving your face is just like shaving your legs, right?"

"Oh god, forget it. I'll do it for you. Just like I do _everything._ " Will begins to agitatedly make breakfast. Grace scowls at him, feeling resentment bubble inside of her.

"You know what, Will?" she snaps. "I've said before that being Will Truman is a walk in the park, and I stand by that statement. So I'm going to go shave by myself, I'm going to go dress myself, _and_ I'm going to go close that deal _by myself._ Without cue cards!"

"Grace, stop. You have no idea what you're doing," Will implores her.

Grace knows he's probably right, but is too fired up; too overcome by her determination to prove him wrong that she can't stop herself.

"You know, you've been looking down on me for years, as if I'm some sort of inferior mess who can't function without you. Maybe this is a godsend for me!" she yells.

Will scoffs.

"Maybe this is the universe giving me a chance to show you that I'm just as strong, smart and capable as you are!" she continues, backing towards Will's room.

"Grace, can you quit antagonizing me?" Will sighs. "All that anger you're exhibiting is going to give me serious frown lines."

"You antagonized yourself yesterday when you came barging into my office in all your faux-superior Will Truman-ness!" Grace hits back. "Well guess what. I'd like to see you try your hand at being Grace Adler."

Will shakes his head at Grace's dramatic confrontation as he breaks eggs into the pan.

"And you'd better think about shaving, too," she adds, her mouth twitching in morbid excitement. "Because you have a date with Josh tonight."

Will stops in his tracks.

"Yeah, that's right. And you can't cancel this time because he already made dinner reservations."

"Grace, you're not seriously expecting me to have sex with your boyfriend," Will says, staring at her for confirmation.

"I think it's only fair. I go to work, _you_ have sex with Josh," she grins.

"Wha- _how_ are you okay with this? What, are you getting off on this or something?" he cries.

"The only thing I'm getting off on is watching you struggle to live my life. And it is glorious," she laughs. "Have fun."

With that, she saunters off to Will's room, leaving him with his mouth agape.

* * *

 **A/N Thanks for much for reading! Please, please, please review and I'm guaranteed to update 100x faster!**


	3. Chapter 3

Will has been in Grace's office several times before.

However, he'd never truly stopped to survey his surroundings. It's, for lack of better word, a mess. A cute mess, like Grace herself, but still: disastrous.

The swatches pouring out of the swatch room. The lilac drapes strewn lazily in front of the fire escape. The half-empty box of Kudos bars on the table. And of course, Karen Walker, filing her nails nonchalantly with various alcohol bottles at her disposal at her desk, displayed almost proudly as if they were photographs of her family members.

It's a far cry from the pristine glass palace that is Doucette & Stein.

Will stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying to position himself exactly where Grace would stand. His discomfort becomes apparent even to Karen, who spies him out of the corner of her eye.

"Grace, sweetie, you're looking a little peaky. Are you still feeling the after-effects of those uppers you took yesterday?" she asks sweetly.

"I don't do drugs, Karen," Will snaps.

"Jeez Louise, I'm just asking! What's gotten your cotton blend panties so far up your ass today?" Karen narrows her eyes, then sighs. "Oh, it's because your boyfriend Peppermint Pansy is visiting at lunch today, right?"

"...What?" Will is caught off guard, turning to face Karen.

"Mmm-hmm, he's pencilled in here for twelve-thirty. You underlined and encircled it in red marker - so either it's a sex date or a break-up date. Oh, and honey, just between you and me - I hope it's the latter."

Will smiles uneasily. "Right. Josh."

"Oh honey, you _know_ you can do better than him. Sure, you're a little nutty, and your hair's a disaster, and you have no sense of taste, or fashion or …" Karen stops. "Where was I going with this?"

"You were telling me...oh, forget it," Will sighs. "I'm not breaking up with Josh. It would be...wrong."

Morally reprehensible, actually, especially considering the body he's inhabiting doesn't belong to him.

"Well, no hooking up in the swatch room this time. It's inappropriate." Karen goes on, returning to filing her nails.

Will scoffs.

"Excuse me? Inappropriate? Coming from the woman who drinks on the job and..and draws penises on the blueprints that Gra... _I'm_ supposed to present to my clients?"

"It's cute when I do it."

"Hmm."

"Anyway, if he comes in here sniffing around like a sad puppy looking for treats, just do what I do when I'm not in the mood with Stanley."

"Which is what?"

"Say you're on your period. Works every time."

"Right. Got it," Will says, exhaling. He thanks the heavens above that Grace's body isn't actually experiencing its menstrual cycle - this whole experience was traumatic enough.

The phone rings.

Will jumps for it eagerly, desperate to get away from conversation with Karen.

"...Grace Adler's office," he says quickly.

"...It's _Grace Adler Designs,_ you moron." Grace snaps through the phone.

"Grace!" Will gasps, clutching the receiver. "I mean...this is...this is Grace."

Karen rolls her eyes, muttering, " _Lord._ "

"How's it going at the firm?" Will asks nervously, pacing back and forth on the spot.

"Stop that." Grace hisses.

"Stop what."

"Pacing. I don't pace."

"How can you…?"

"I can hear you, so knock it off." Grace sighs. "I just got here. This tie was too tight, so I loosened it a little-"

"DON'T. LOOSEN. THE. TIE!" Will yells. "It's meant to stay tied!"

He brings the phone away from his face to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead, before becoming wary of Karen's presence. "Heh- I mean...the tie on the...curtains is meant to stay tied. For aesthetic purposes." He murmurs into the phone.

"Sweetie, not that I don't derive enjoyment from you abusing your clients, but maybe you could take the anger down a notch? Okay." Karen says sweetly, clearly bemused by Will's behavior.

Will takes a few steps away from Karen, ducking and pressing the phone to his mouth forcefully.

"Don't make a scene, okay?" he hisses. "One of my biggest clients is coming in at twelve o'clock to discuss major business conglomerates and liquidation of subsidiaries and I'm gonna need you to NOT have powdered sugar on your face when you're in that meeting!"

"How did you….?"

"I can hear you eating."

Grace swallows audibly.

Will pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, look. Here's what's gonna happen. You're going to do that hoarse cough of yours - the one you leave on Aunt Honey's answering machine when you want to get out of a spa day with her - and say you're losing your voice and you can't do much talking, but you're happy to sign any necessary contracts. Because we all know that you talking in any kind of professional environment equals _major_ disaster."

Grace narrows her eyes.

"Grace? Are you still there?" Will whispers.

"I'm here. I just thought after this morning you might have regretted saying certain things about my...capabilities as a businesswoman."

"What capabilities? The most successful business transaction you've ever done is when you convinced that vendor to sell you a hoagie in exchange for turquoise jewelry."

"I still consider that to be one of my crowning glories."

"He left a _hair_ in the hoagie."

"It was still delicious."

"Look...just don't embarrass me, okay. No talking, no eating, no... _adjusting_."

Grace rolls her eyes. "Will, I already told you and I'm not going to touch your balls!"

"I mean the _tie_ , idiot!" Will yells.

Karen freezes and stares warily at Will.

"God- I...call you later," Will says, slamming the phone down.

"Sweetie, this is just a suggestion. But you seem a little uptight today. Have you thought about maybe, I don't know, going out and getting railed?" she smiles.

"Getting railed- I … I _have_ a boyfriend!" Will snaps.

"Oh. _That_ wet blanket. And speak of the devil." Karen says, noticing Josh out of the corner of her eye before he knocks on the door.

"Grace!" Josh calls. "I didn't know if you wanted a hot dog or a bagel, so I brought you both!"

Will shudders.

"Yeah, you better break up with him before he tries to shove his hot dog in _your_ bagel." Karen says idly.

Josh pushes the door open and immediately rushes to embrace Will, kissing him on the cheek.

"Oh, Grace, you look more and more heavenly everyday. Is that a new eyeshadow?" he asks.

"Oh, you noticed," Will says, forcing a smile.

He takes the bagel and takes a tentative bite. Josh stares at him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably in his four-inch heels.

"Look, Josh, I…"

"I bought some new oils for us, by the way," Josh purrs. "Aromatic _and_ animal cruelty-free. I bought them in lavender, rosemary _and_ spiced apple-"

"I'm on my period," Will shouts, before slamming a hand over his mouth.

Josh's eyes widen. "Oh."

"Yep. I'm...having my monthly visitation. Jupiter is...in my rising house…" he rambles. "Aunt Flo is in town."

"Good lord, when does the second hand embarrassment end with you two?" Karen wails, pulling an open magazine over her head.

"Grace, I thought...I thought your period was two weeks ago?" Josh says slowly.

"What?"

"Yeah, you said the same thing last week. With...less description, of course."

Will bites his lip anxiously.

"Well...that's because it's still here. It's _long_. Extremely long. It's...high tide…" he trails off, and winces.

"Oh, Grace. My mother used to get the exact same thing," Josh says sympathetically. "You know what helped? A massage, a romantic comedy and…" he darts forward to press a kiss to Will's neck. "Sweet lovemaking."

"Could you two just take it to the swatch room already?" Karen sighs.

Will pushes Josh away slightly.

"Josh, I just...need to be alone tonight, if that's okay. It's nothing personal."

"Oh. Well. Call you tomorrow?"

"I'll be counting the seconds," Will says.

Josh turns to present his cheek to Will.

"Kiss it?" he asks.

Will inwardly groans in frustration, but relents, leaning forward to kiss Josh lightly on the cheek.

"Finish that bagel," Josh says, backing slowly out of the room. "You'll need the carbs during your menzies."

Will nods stiffly and waits for Josh to leave. When the door is finally shut, Karen shakes her head and fixes Will with a pitying look.

"Well what do you know, he's into period sex. All the more reason he should be killed."

Will feels almost violated. He didn't think talk of butterfly kisses and massages could ever leave him wanting to breathe into a paper bag, and yet here he was.

"I'm gonna go..." He looks around for somewhere to take a breather and spies the swatch room. "Swatches. Those swatches aren't going to...swatch themselves."

He stumbles into the room and locks it behind him nervously, before ripping off his high heels and wiping the curls from his face.

Being Grace Adler was certainly proving to an experience.


	4. Chapter 4

Grace isn't stupid.

She's smart.

She got into Columbia, for crying out loud. She started her own business. And she's seen every episode of _Ally McBeal_ so it's not like she's _totally_ out of the loop when it comes to the law profession.

Still, waking up in the body of her gay, male best friend isn't an everyday occurrence and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't distracting her.

Yet when she showed up at work, swaggering through the doors and nodding to her colleagues, she felt an odd sense of esteem she'd never felt before. She felt revered; respected. She almost started to enjoy it before she realized that she was inhabiting her best friends body and enjoying it would be wrong. Very wrong.

Well, the fact that such an established social rule of male superiority even existed was even _wronger_ , but still.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She feels taller, more powerful, more agile, but she misses feeling her soft curls falling past her shoulders, misses the pencil she would always tuck just behind her ear, misses the snacks she would always keep hidden in her desk.

Being in the cold, sterile and soulless office of Doucette and Stein, she feels out of place. She considers calling Will again to freak out, but then realizes she wants to prove to him she _can_ do this. She can be an interior designer turned lawyer overnight, no problem.

She hums, striding over to the bookshelf in Will's Gucci leather loafers. She runs a finger over the books slowly, half-hoping to find _Lawyering for Dummies._

Or _Accidental_ _Body-Swapping and How To Pass as Your Gay Best Friend._

That would certainly help.

"Will?" comes a chirpy female voice.

Grace turns around to see a blonde woman standing at the door.

"...Connie?" she says slowly, remembering Will make a passing reference to his secretary once.

Connie giggles.

"Oh, hi, Will. You're looking handsome today. Not that...not that you don't _always_ look handsome. Because you do." Connie blushes and ducks her head slightly.

"Oh...okay. Thanks," Grace says boredly, not particularly interested in hearing anyone fawn over Will.

"So…uh….your meeting's at twelve. Is there anything I can do for you before then?" Connie bites her lip, looking at Grace almost lustfully. Grace wouldn't be surprised if she wanted Will to throw her down on the desk and take her right there, his sexuality notwithstanding.

 _How sad,_ thinks Grace.

"No, thanks, Connie, that will be all," she nods, forcing a smile.

"Oh, well I'm right out here if you need me…" Connie begins to slink slowly towards the door in way that she probably thinks is seductive.

 _Jeez_ , Grace thinks to herself, as Connie finally leaves. _No wonder Will's ego is bursting at the seams. He has this bimbo in his office pouting and batting her eyelashes, day in, day out._

 _Why isn't anyone in my office in love with_ me _?_ Grace ponders.

As Connie leaves, Grace walks behind Will's desk, running a idle finger along the mahogany. She slowly lowers herself into his fancy Herman Miller chair. She sighs, relaxing into the chair.

"Man, this is comfortable," she says aloud, running her hands over the lush leather. "I gotta get me one of these for my office."

She'd once heard Will brag about how the chair had 198 positions. She had no idea what that would entail, but either way, it was one hell of a chair.

 _And to think! I spent most of my days standing. In heels! While on the phone with neurotic clients!_

"Will Truman, your job is a breeze," she sighs.

A knock sounds at the door.

Grace quickly fixes her posture, sitting up and clasping her hands together on the desk. "Uh, come in!" she says. "Front and centre!" She narrows her eyes at herself at her latter greeting. Businessmen said that, right?

A plump, stocky red-faced woman in a multicolored poncho walks in, grinning widely. "Knock, knock," she says heartily.

Grace's mouth falls open. "Aunt Honey?" she says, gaping.

"Oh, I love it when you call me that. Makes me feel like family," Aunt Honey says. "Now, stand up and get over here, handsome. Let me squeeze those cheeks."

Grace remembers herself, going over to embrace her aunt- well, _client_ \- in a tight hug.

"Mmm! Feel those biceps!" Honey exclaimed, squeezing Grace to the point of discomfort. "Please tell me you've got a little boy-toy at home appreciating this cute, tight body."

"Ohh, okay, Honey. Looks like we've had a little too many morning mimosas. What...what are you doing here?" she says sweetly, straightening her suit and heading back behind her desk.

"Well, I figured since you're my lawyer...I'm sorry, can I sit? I've been walking all morning and my thighs are chafing like a hot cheese grater."

"Yes! Sit, sit," Grace says, lowering herself to her desk. "What can I do for you Aun- um, Honey?"

Honey takes a seat. "There's the million dollar question. And hopefully the same amount of money I'll be walking out of here with. I want a lawsuit."

Grace blinks. "I, uh…" she stammers.

"Is that the right word? Oh, who cares, you're the expert, I'll let you deal with that boring stuff," she waves her hand. "Anyway, last Tuesday, I was just minding my own business, watching _Law & Order _and indulging in a snack, because I earned it with that all the jazzercise I've been doing…"

"Yes?" Grace says, fidgeting slightly out of nervousness. Brushing against Will's more masculine knuckles didn't do much to ease her nerves, though.

"So I take a bite of my corn muffin when all of a sudden, _there it was_."

Grace leans forward slightly. "What was it?"

"A toenail," she says. "In my muffin!" She screws up her face in disgust. "So, this was shocking to me, but I'm sure _you've_ have dozens of cases like this, Will, you know, being a big-shot lawyer and all."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, the classic toenail in the cake case. That's the million dollar lawsuit that puts bread on my table," she says nervously, adjusting her tie. "But seriously, Honey, can't you just...take the cake back to the store? I'm sure they'll...reimburse you?"

"I don't think so," Honey says indignantly. "I'm gonna need bigger reparations than that. I could have _died_ choking on that nail, Will,"

"Never died eating them before," Grace says under her breath.

"Anyway. So I was sold this cake by Entemann's. So I did a little digging. They're owned by Bimbo Bakeries. And _they're_ owned by Grupo Bimbo. So I wanna go straight to the big man," Honey says, her eyes gleaming ambitiously. "And sue them. I read an article about this woman in Bakersfield who won ten million dollars when she accidentally ingested a razor blade inside a Snickers bar. This is pretty much the same thing."

Grace takes a moment to absorb Honey's plans. "Uhh...can you even do that? Sue the parent companies?" she says, cogs turning in her mind.

"Well, can I?" Honey says impatiently.

"I think the subsidiaries are separate legal entities," Grace says. "That cake was made in a factory by a minimum wage worker. You can't sue the _world's largest baking company_ over the mistakes of some...pimply twenty-five year old in a hairnet." She pauses. "I think."

"Oh, they weren't twenty five. This toenail had a gnarly quality, like it was yellowed with advanced age," Honey says, diving into her purse and fishing out a doggy bag. "See, I've got it right here."

Grace reels back in disgust, her chair sliding back and hitting the bookshelf with a thump. She holds up her hands as if to defend herself. "Ugh, Honey, you really didn't need to bring that."

"Yes, I did. For evidence. Now where do I submit this?" She waves it around. "We are going to trial, aren't we?"

"Honey, please, put it back," Grace says through gritted teeth. "I guess I can get in touch with Entenmann's. I guess you've got a case there. I can't promise you ten million dollars, though."

"Well, why not?" Aunt Honey says grumpily.

"Well, if memory serves me correctly, you've kind of had legal history with Entmann's before. Like when you, uh, gained six pounds on their fat-free coffee cake? I'm just saying, we'd have more of a case here if you didn't have a reputation for suing over baked goods." Grace nods matter-of-factly, knowing that in this misogynistic society, she can spout any legal vomit she wants and have it be all that more believable from Will's mouth.

In all honesty, she just wants to get rid of Aunt Honey.

 _Why do I have to be a lawyer on the_ _ **one**_ _day that my crazy aunt wants to sue the entire baking industry?_ she thinks to herself frustratedly.

Aunt Honey considers. "Well, gaining a pound or two is one thing. But when you've got somebody else's toenail fungus halfway down your esophagus-"

"You know what, Honey?" Grace cuts in, standing up abruptly "I have a meeting in about five minutes, so can we continue this at uh-" She glances at her watch. "Actually, today's not good. Maybe another day?" _When I'm not in this god forsaken gay lawyer flesh-prison._ She adds internally.

"...And I swear to you, we will go after that poor factory worker for all they're worth, but for now, I'm busy. You, uh, see yourself out?" She flashes a grin to her aunt, and then walks to exit the office, wanting to get as far away from Aunt Honey and her toenail muffin as possible.

She'd lied, of course: her meeting wasn't in five minutes. It was in two hours. But she had approximately two hours a) to learn how to use a urinal and b) prepare to sit through a business meeting with enough feigned legal chutzpah to pass as her best friend.

And honestly? There wasn't enough time in the world.

She just wanted this day to be over.


End file.
